Hate to race

Monaco 3.6

Charles crouched beside Max, his heart hammering in his chest as he shook him. "Fuck, Max!" His voice cracked, fear taking over completely.

He shook harder, his hands gripping Max's shoulders tightly, muttering desperate pleas under his breath. "Come on, you stubborn asshole. Wake up. Wake up" he whispered.

Finally, Max stirred, a low groan escaping his lips as his eyes fluttered open. Charles let out a sharp exhale of relief, leaning back on his heels.

"Max?" Charles said softly, watching as Max's glassy eyes slowly tried to focus. "Are you with me? Hey, look at me."

Max blinked up at him, his face pale and drenched in sweat. He barely seemed aware of his surroundings before he gagged, his body jerking forward.

"Shit," Charles muttered, moving quickly to help him sit up as Max retched violently, throwing up onto the bathroom floor. The sound was gut-wrenching, and Charles winced, but he didn't let go of him.

When it was over, Max slumped against the wall, his head lolling back. He looked utterly drained, barely keeping his eyes open.

Charles ran a hand through his hair, trying to think past the adrenaline coursing through him. His mind raced as he took in Max's state—the slurred words, the way he'd collapsed, and now this.

"Fuck," Charles whispered to himself, realization hitting him like a truck. "Someone spiked your drink."

Max didn't respond. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling unevenly, his arms limp at his sides.

"Okay, okay," Charles said, his voice shaking. He glanced toward the door, his instincts screaming at him to call someone—security, medical staff, anyone. But he froze.

Max. Passed out drunk. Drugged. The headlines wrote themselves.

"No one can know, shit" Charles muttered under his breath, panic tightening in his throat. Max's career was fragile enough already. And Charles? He'd be dragged into this mess too, tied to a scandal that could ruin both of them.

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. None of that mattered right now. The only thing that mattered was Max.

Kneeling down beside him again, Charles gently wiped Max's face with a trembling hand, his earlier anger and confusion forgotten. The kiss, the fight, the horrible words they'd thrown at each other—it all felt insignificant now.

"Hey," Charles said softly, his voice steadying as he placed a hand on Max's shoulder. "You're going to be okay, alright? I'll get you out of here."

Max stirred slightly at the sound of his voice, his head turning toward him. His lips moved as though he wanted to say something, but no sound came out.

"Don't talk," Charles said, his voice firmer now. "Just... just stay awake, okay?"

He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't know how to fix this. But he couldn't leave Max like this, not when he was so clearly vulnerable, not when something terrible could happen if he wasn't careful.

He pulled out his phone, his hands shaking as he texted Pierre, telling him to cover for him if anyone asked where he was. He wasn't sure what excuse Pierre would come up with, but he trusted him to handle it.

Then, he wrapped an arm around Max, helping him sit up fully. "Alright, let's get out of here," Charles muttered, more to himself than to Max.

As he helped Max to his feet, their earlier fight played on a loop in his mind. The things he'd said about Jos, the things Max had said in return—it all felt so far away now. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was getting Max somewhere safe.